


Wallace 'functioning alcoholic' foster

by Shootmewitharaygun



Category: Monsterkind (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Character Study, Fanfiction, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24248788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shootmewitharaygun/pseuds/Shootmewitharaygun
Summary: Wallace contemplates what got him here.I'm bad at titles.Proofread by British_Nymph on Instagram.Language warning: swear words and an implied homophobic slur.





	Wallace 'functioning alcoholic' foster

Wallace poured himself a glass of whiskey, 'I earned this.' He thought to himself.  
(He did not)  
He brought the cup to his lips and took a swig.

Wallace shuddered and coughed as the alcohol slid down his throat. He mentally scolded himself for the amount of times he tipped back the glass to take several more swigs, "I shouldn't have done this..." He muttered to himself.  
He took a breath and cleared his throat.  
"I have to stop this."  
He sighed, as he did it again.

He made a sour face and looked at the bottle's label, "What's the alcohol percentage of this?" He mumbled.  
'160 proof'  
Wallace stared in slight horror.  
"Is this even legal?" He pondered in terror before he took another drink.  
"Well, I already drank it, so if it is illegal I'm already screwed, so I might as well keep drinking it.." He reasoned while pouring himself another glass.  
He shot it back and felt it burn as it ran down his throat: he had another vicious coughing fit, thumping his chest.  
With a shudder, he sat down and put his head in his hands.

Wallace rubbed his scalp and groaned.  
He looked over to the bottle and sighed, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling; everything was fuzzy.

He sighed and rubbed his temples, "I'm so tired.."He whispered to himself, before looking back to the bottle.

He rubbed his eyes and grabbed the bottle and his cup, he began pouring himself a glass before stopping.  
Wallace put down the glass, before bringing the bottle to his lips.  
He leaned his head back, letting the burning and bitter whiskey fell down his throat. The tart taste made him hiss.  
He took a deep breath and brought it back to his lips, it felt like nails piercing his throat as it slipped down.  
He wheezed and gripped his chest, he cleared his throat and rested his head on the kitchen island.

Wallace gripped his hair and let out a muffled wail. "Why am I here? I should be in District A." He groaned and turned his head over. "I was so important in my office." He sighed and placed an index finger on the glass and circled it around the rim of the cup.

"I graduated young, I dedicated my life to my work, to help people. And this is the thanks I get?" He ranted through gritted teeth.

Tears pricked in the corner of his eyes.  
"I've always put others first, I've always been the bigger man." He clenched his fists and pulled his hair.  
"When Jerry was on the edge of being fired, I was the one who spent hours doing his work for him; and gave him all the credit? Me. Has Jerry ever repaid me? No!" Ripped a few strands of hair out.  
"The bastard never even thanked me." He choked out.

Wallace continued to grope his hair.  
"And Crimmins, God were to start with that asshole. Not once has that man ever tried to help with work, he's such a creep."  
He ranted, hissing each word like a curse.  
"And Charlie..." Wallace spat. "That little bastard tried to kill me!" He growled bitterly. "He slammed my head against the wall and I had to get stitches, I was there to help him, I mean seriously I'm the least threatening person ever!" He gestured wildly to himself. "I was just sitting there doing my job, and that was the thanks I got." He snarled each word like it hurt him to speak.  
"All he did was say 'sorry' and I, like an idiot, forgave him! And I'm supposed to move on, act like it's water under the bridge, but I'm not over it, and I shouldn't be." He seethed as his face went red with  
rage.  
After a while of ranting about his life, he realized no one was there, he had been speaking to the walls.  
He realized how alone he was, the only thing keeping him company was the echos of his voice and the red hot rage in his heart, and without it,, he was cold, a cavity in his chest.  
Wallace stood in complete silence, unable to think...  
The silence was interrupted by a hushed voice.  
'What if Mr. Crimmins fires you.' His mind spoke up in a muffled tone.  
'You like a monster, a male monster.' It hissed bitterly.  
'You're disgusting, the only person who loves you is a monster, you're pathetic.'  
His face scrunched and eyebrows furrowed.  
'I mean, come on, how much of a degenerate can you be? Your parents would be ashamed.' It snarled, scratching its claws down the innards of his skull, sounding like nails on a chalkboard as it dragged its talons down.  
'And even then, he doesn't love you, he's just using you as a little puppet for his dearly departed.' It growled in a mocking tone, rasping its voice.  
'How pathetic, huh?' It cackled, depravity dripping off its voice.  
'He's as good as you're ever gonna get, and even then he doesn't really love you.' It hissed, stomping around his skull.  
Wallace sighed and sat up with a stretch, all to use to the voice's mockery.  
"I need something stronger." He said before pulling a bottle of Jägermeister from his cabinet.

He popped open the bottle and poured himself a glass.  
Wallace looked around, the room seemed fuzzy. "I'm a good social worker..."  
He mumbled.  
"I didn't deserve this, all I ever do is help people, I just wanted some thanks, maybe a pat on the back. But is that what they did? No. They shipped me off like I was nothing, so easily replaced." He hummed as he swayed back and forth.  
He had a half baked smile.  
"It's almost a little flattering.." He said before he felt a cold liquid trickle down to his feet, he looked down and realized he had poured over half the bottle, and it had spilled over the counter and down to his shoes.  
"Ah, shit." He shouted as he shook the liqueur off his shoes.  
He grabbed a towel and cleaned off his counter tossing the rag aside once he's done and grabbing his drink, the familiar smell comforting him.  
He took a deep breath and exhaled through gritted teeth as he brought the rim of the glass to his lips.  
Wallace squeezed his eyes shut, tensed his shoulders and shot back the entire glass. 

He struggled to swallow as it trickled down his chin repressing the urge to vomit as he choked down the burning liquid, he gulped down as it felt like lemon squeezed in fresh wounds.  
He knew this was not a good idea, but it's too late for that.  
Tears streamed down his beet-red face as he scrunched his nose.  
Then it stopped, the cup was finally empty.  
He dropped the cup and stumbled back, his head spun and he rested his head on the counter, trying to focus on anything but the screaming voices in his head, or the deep pit in his stomach.  
The chilled counter soothed his pounding head. He let out a relieved sigh and settled onto the counter, the ice-cold had never felt so soothing.  
He stretched his arms and laid them on the counter while His eyes stung with tears and bad decisions.  
"Why do I keep doing this?" He croaked out, his last sense of dignity leaving him.  
"I know I'm not incompetent, I know I don't deserve this, but everyone treats me like shit." He stopped trying to hold back his tears, "Everyone I've ever known has done this to me, I'm the one constant." He whimpered between sobs.  
"Let's face it, Foster, you're a joke." He said, quivering as he finally admitted what he's always known.  
"Like anyone could really love a disgusting fa.." He stopped himself, not wanting to say it.  
"I worked at that place for 3 years, but nobody ever knew me deeper than shallow conversation. Jerry's the only one who ever bothered to get to know me on a personal level, but even then he treats me like garbage; humiliating me in front of coworkers and passing it off as 'jokes' which is complete bullshit." He hissed, balling his fists.  
"The only place I've ever even been somewhat liked was in a city full of monsters." He growled and slammed his fists on the counter, knocking over the glass.  
He paused, looking at the cup, his mind went blank, his ears rang as he crumpled into a ball on the floor.  
"What's wrong with me?" 

He broke down in sobs. "Monsters can't help that they were born like that, and neither can I..."  
He tried to make himself as small as possible.  
"I shouldn't feel like this." He croaked,  
"I know there's nothing wrong with being-  
like this...But it feels so bad." Wallace gripped his hair and scrunched his face, hot tears streaming down his face.  
His mouth felt dry, and his eyelids felt like sandbags.  
Wallace let his head fall on the chilled floor, his thoughts so heavy they were pressing him down; the voices so loud and shrill he couldn't even tell what they were saying.  
He sobbed in broken hiccups, he was so cold...

He rolled over to lay on his back; he stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything but the feeling of a boa constructor tightening around his head.  
Wallace groaned and tried to set up before unceremoniously falling back on the floor, making a dull thump sound as his head hit the tiles, causing Wallace to yelp in pain. "Ow, ow, ow..." He whined, wrapping his arms around his head.  
He writhed around in discomfort, he sat up and sniffled as tears fell down his cheeks, he hardly even noticed them anymore.  
He blinked, scanning the room, black spots appearing in his vision.  
Slowly, Wallace began making his way to his feet, stumbling as he slowly put his hand on the counter and shaking like a leaf as he pulled himself up.  
He paused, taking a deep breath before standing up fully.  
Immediately, all the blood rushed to his head, he tripped over his own feet as he tried to make his way to the hallway.  
Wallace staggered his way to the bedroom, pausing between steps to lean on the wall in an attempt to steady himself  
desperate for something to ease his throbbing headache and twisted stomach.  
He tripped down the hallway, slamming his face into the wall, cutting his top lip.  
Wallace pulled his head away from the wall, cupping the scrape as blood trickled down his chin.  
"Ow ow oww." He whined, his legs trembling as he staggered to his room.  
At last: his bed.  
He flopped back onto his bed, the soft mattress embracing him like an old friend, resting his aching head on the cool pillow,  
he sighed as if trying to exhale his stress as he sunk into the pillow  
He turned over, blood and hot tears staining his pillow, as he settled into the bed.  
The screaming voices turned to white noise as he finally passed out...

beep, beep, beep  
Wallace groggily opened his eyes, the room blurred as he looked blinked awake.  
He couldn't decide which was louder, the obnoxious high pitched ringing in his head, or the alarm clock.

He turned over, blood and hot tears staining his pillow, as he settled into the bed.  
The screaming voices turned to white noise as he finally passed out...

beep, beep, beep  
Wallace groggily opened his eyes, the room blurred as he looked blinked awake.  
He couldn't decide which was louder, the obnoxious high pitched ringing in his head, or the alarm clock.  
Wallace looked over to his clock, his neck cracking as it turned.  
6:30, the hour and minute glowed in big bold letters, hurting his eyes as he stared in disbelief before he remembered. "Oh, right..." He croaked, his throat stinging as he spoke.  
He rubbed his eyes, the nausea suddenly hitting him, along with a throbbing headache.  
Wallace hissed in pain, putting his head in his hands. "Good morning..." He sighed.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a writing experiment for angst, I hope you like it.  
> Comments are appreciated.


End file.
